i can see the scars under your mask, darling
by stilessttilinski
Summary: And maybe a little patience and sobriety is all they need to make it work. - - ZachariasLavender - for Mysti.


**a.n.**

**Another zachariaslavender.**

**Dedicated to: **_Mystii_**, because she wrote me a ZachariasLavender! :D**

**Remember; if you decide to use this couple, pleasepleaseplease mention me as the founder? :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not J.K. Rowling.**

_i feel like i'm falling, so darling,_

_don't let me go._

**-Owl City.**

i. _stardust._

The first time she sees him is in their First Year, when he goes up to the old hat and places it atop his head.

By then, she's already been sorted into Gryffindor (brave_ohso_fuckingbrave) along with _Harry Potter_ and some bushy-haired girl.

She's waiting impatiently for the Feast, and as she glances up, she notices that Smith boy walk up to the stool with his back facing her, and for some unexplainable reason, she's curious as to what his face looks like.

And he turns around, and she gasps, because those freckles! They look like stardust, settling upon his face and resting there, a smattering of dots across his nose and cheeks. And she gasps because that stardust reminds her of her childhood days (more like nights), spent outside with her parents, gazing at the inky black skies, stars glittering and winking, and, _ohmy,_ those freckles remind her _sososo_ much of those stars.

Her heart aches as she stares at the Smith boy, until the spell is broken by that _tatteredold_ hat yelling his house to the rest of the Great Hall.

Hufflepuff. And she feels a twang of disappointment because maybe, just maybe, she'd like to see freckles – no, stardust—again.

ii. _sandcastles & hot summer days._

The second time she sees him is in Herbology, and they're both twelve years old. She barely notices him at first, because his _stardust_ freckles are already forgotten from that one day in First Year.

Parvati Patil—her newfound _bestbestfriend_—is sitting to the right of her, and he's sitting to the left of her, but she doesn't even realize because she's too busy _gossiping_.

"Did you hear Draco Malfoy's going out with Parkinson?" Parvati says, curiosity lighting up her dark eyes.

"No! Really? And I think Ron Weasley has taken a fancy to Hermione Granger," she nods, listening to Parvati's squeals with interest.

"_Ohmygosh,_ no! I bet they'll start going out in fourth year!"

"I bet they're not going to go out until—" she was cut off by a drawling voice coming from her…left.

"_I bet_ that if you two don't _shut up_, I'm going to tell Professor Sprout." That Smith boy's face is suddenly in front of hers.

She feels her breath catch as her eyes rake over his face. Those freckles. _Stardust._ It all comes back to her, and her eyes drift to his sandy blonde hair, images of _hot summer days_ at the beach filling her mind, plaguing her.

She thinks of _sandcastles_ and _beach houses_ and _seashells_ and she feels a sudden rush of gratitude to the Smith boy for reminding her of happier times.

But she doesn't thank him, because really, who thanks someone for threatening to tell on them?

(Or maybe she doesn't thank him because she's never been much of a Gryffindor anyway.)

Instead, she turns back to Parvati, lost in memories of sand.

iii. _grassy green fields._

It's third year and she's rushing off to Divination, a whirl of papers and blonde hair and Gryffindor scarves. She turns a corner and smacks into a familiar sandy-haired Hufflepuff.

She swears. Papers scatter all over the floor, and he—wearing a smirk, no less!—bends down to help her.

And then their hands brush, grabbing a Divination textbook, and brown eyes meet green ones.

Suddenly, she's paralyzed, lost in those eyes, seeing grassy-green fields and four leaf clovers and she's wondering why the hell this Smith boy reminds her of so many things.

And then he says something in that snide tone—that Hufflepuffs should _neverever_ have—and the moment is lost as she gathers her books and stands up, glaring at the sandy-haired boy.

"Divination _is_ useful!" she says defensively, eyes flashing. He rolls those eyes—that are so green yet so _unlike_ Harry Potter's—and stands up as well.

She finds she prefers his eyes over Harry's any day, but she's still frustrated at his Divination remark, so she lets that thought slip to the back of her mind. And she lets out a huff of indignation, turns around, and leaves those grassy-green fields behind.

iv. _messed up Masquerade Ball_.

Fourth year is a whirlwind of excitement. It's practically a tornado, the only thing is, she's the only one not caught in it.

Harry Potter's been chosen from the Goblet of Fire (holyshitholyshit_holyshit)_, Hermione _fucking_ Granger's got herself a famous Quidditch star boyfriend, even Parvati's running around with that Blaise Zabini! And they're involved in all the exhilarating crap while she's on the outside looking in.

And then it's the Yule Ball and Parvati's off with Harry Potter (much to Blaise's disappointment) and she and Seamus are dancing and she might (possiblymaybe) be falling for her Irish friend.

But then he cuts in with his stardust freckles (practically nonexistent) and sandy hair and suddenly, she's not falling for Seamus Finnegan, and she's wondering how she could've ever even _thought _of falling for him when there's this green-eyes Smith boy standing just a meter away.

For one night, he captures her heart and puts it in a box (for safety-keeping) and she doesn't mind one bit. She's finally caught up in that Fourth Year madness and she's grateful for having this Smith boy always there to help her.

They twirl and spin and laugh and talk for just _thatonenight_, and maybe they're not all that sober, but both their masks are uncovered and for _thatonenight_, they can be themselves.

When she wakes up in the morning, she doesn't remember anything about last night, so she puts on her mask as usual.

And Parvati complains to her about Harry _effing_ Potter and she sits there _as usual_, putting on a façade, as if her whole life's some sort of messed up Masquerade Ball.

v. _shadows._

Fifth year is full of excitement, too, only this time, everything's serious and there isn't any playful banter or hearty laughs or silly grins.

She thinks Seamus is right, of course. That Harry potter might just be off his rocker, _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named _is back, honestly!

She doesn't join that stupid club, the D.A. or whatever the hell it's called. She doesn't participate most of this year, _this year_ she's in the background (maybe it's not just this year.). This year, she's standing in the shadows. And, _oh,_ the shadows are dark and uncomfortable and she'd like nothing more than to be in the spotlight.

He's in the D.A., she knows. (Although he doesn't _really_ care about the stupid war or stupid Dumbledore or stupid Harry Potter.) She's tempted to join it just to see his greengreen eyes and sandy hair and to feel comforted just by sneaking a glance at him.

She's selfish. She's been selfish all her life, always biting off more than she can chew. She's not _all that _self-centered, though. She _does_ think of Parvati and Seamus and her parents _once in awhile._ But this time, _this year_, she wants to be selfish, because she might not get that chance ever again.

Merlin, she needs to find reassurance in those grassy-green eyes. She knows she shouldn't think of him as hers and hers only (not hers not hers _not hers_) but she does anyway.

So she joins Dumbledore's _fucking_ Army because maybe then, she doesn't have to be in the shadows.

vi. _fabricated dreams._

She goes out with Ron Weasley because she's fueled by loosely fabricated dreams of beautiful babies, white picket fences, and the idea of soul mates and _happilyeverafter._

She knows he loves Hermione, deep down, but frankly, she doesn't care anymore. So she puts on another mask atop of the one she's already wearing, and she's known as _Ron Weasley's girlfriend_ now. She doesn't want to think about the upcoming war or murders or Voldemort (yes, _Voldemort_), so she spends her time locked in a fierce embrace with Ron, her—gag!—boyfriend.

(And mind you, Ron's not the best of snoggers anyway.)

She knows she's caused a rift between the two best friends, and after that _stupidfucking_ Quidditch match, she knows Ron's not hers anymore.

But she still clings to Ron, because maybe, she can _get a grip _on him (and her rapidly spiraling-out-of-control life) and make him hers, again?

No, it wasn't meant to work out between them anyway, and he slips through her desperate fingers and she's heartbroken because maybe she cares for him more than she thought she did.

Her dreams of beautiful babies and white picket fences and soul mates are destroyed, and she's not fueled by _anything_ anymore.

So she puts on yet another mask, but this time, this mask, is as close to the _real her_ as it can possible get. She cries whenever she sees her (not hers) Ron and she lets herself slip into a depression so severe even Parvati can't help her.

And then she's in the hallways one day, and all of a sudden, she breaks down.

Then he shows up and the Hufflepuff in him truly shows, and she's reminded of the night in Fourth Year when they're both happy—so, so, happy—and she wonders where the _hell_ that all went.

"Do you remember…" she pauses, gazing into his eyes, his green_green_ eyes, "…Fourth Year?"

He immediately stiffens and she regrets saying anything, and there's an awkward silence hanging in the air.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember," he says nonchalantly, glancing at her briefly. And okayokay_okay_ maybe she's not one to judge, but she thinks he should've been sorted into Slytherin instead of Hufflepuff.

But she smiles anyway, grabs his hands and pulls him up. Closing her eyes, she hums a soft melody and they dance together, calloused hands intertwined with smoother ones.

He has a dumbfounded expression on his face as he sways with her, as if he can't believe he's actually doing this. It's so _out-of-character_ (for both of them.).

She doesn't believe it either.

vii. _scars._

It's her last year, goddammit, and she doesn't want to leave Hogwarts yet. This year has to be _special._ After all, it's almost over and she needs—wants—to make memories.

Her ex is gonegonegone, along with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and Dumbledore's _dead_, and Hogwarts is just a _torture chamber_ now. She keeps out of the way, afraid_soafraid_ of what they might do to her.

Seventh year is a rush and all those Crucios do nothing to help her remember the Smith boy. She doesn't see him at all this year, and truthfully, she's disappointed.

(But not disappointed enough to seek him out.)

Suddenly, all too suddenly, it's the final battle, and she fights (oh, there was always a Gryffindor in her somewhere) and he doesn't. Her mask slips just a little when she realizes he isn't there (he isn't there, he isn't there, _he isn't there._), as if him not being there is some sort of stupid bloody symbol to their lives. And she knows what she's thinking is ridiculous, utterly _ridiculous, _and she needs to focus on making it out alive, but she can't help herself.

She thinks she's fallen for the Hufflepuff boy, and the thought scares her, because she's never fallen for anyone before, and she really doesn't know what the feeling is like.

And in that moment, she freezes in the midst of the ongoing battle, and ohMerlinohMerlin_ohMerlin_ that was a mistake.

A man comes charging (nono_no_) at her, teeth bared, hands clawing.

Then she blacks out, but _ohgod_, she can still feel the pain! It feels as if a thousand knives are piercing through her _prettypretty_ skin and for a moment, she fears she's not going to be beautiful anymore. It's all agony and painpainpain. Her masks are slowly peeling off, and the scarred skin underneath is exposed; only this time, she really is scarred. And she regrets ever putting on those _goddamn_ masks.

She lies there for quite some time, hovering somewhere between life and death. It's an unreal experience, and by the time she wakes up, she's not going to remember any of it. All she sees is stardust, and sand, and fields.

(She has to remind herself _none of it's real._)

Then she wakes up, and the battle is over, and they've won (they've _won!_) and everything still seems _gloom-and-doom_ and she wonders if she's ever going to be okay again.

She's just her now (no masks) and maybe she _is_ just a mess of scars and broken happiness and peeled off disguises and shattered dreams.

Then she sees him at the after-party (he's back!) and they run over to each other (maybe they're a little tipsy, but really, who gives a _damn_ anymore?), eyes dead-set on each other, and suddenly, he's kissing her, and she's kissing him, and she's lost in a hurricane of stardust freckles, grassy-green eyes and sandy blonde hair, and all is well.

She thinks she likes her better with her scars, and maybe, just maybe, she likes them too.

And maybe a little patience and sobriety is all they need to make it work.

**a.n.**

**Favorite. One-shot. Ever.**

**Please don't favorite without reviewing.**


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